WarCraft: Outbreak REDUX
by TheyAre
Summary: The old one didn't work out for a few reasons, so I deleted it and rewrote. R/R and Enjoy!
1. Default Chapter

WarCraft: Outbreak (Version 1.4)  
  
Prologue  
  
The man sat in darkness, enjoying the feel of the cool night air as it played over his skin. He shifted in his heavy robes. An assortment of rings and charms were on his fingers and wrists, jangling as they struck one another. The jewelry betrayed the man's identity as a wizard of some sort, but his cracked and pitted skin spoke of something more than the advanced age the man clearly possessed.  
  
Fingers ran along strong but wizened arms, the man relishing the feel of power coursing through his veins. He gazed at the star-dusted sky, sensing the faint energy of the cosmos and the mysteries they hid. In the past, he'd considered them unreachable, those mysteries beyond his ability to plumb.  
  
That had all changed, though, when he'd heard the Call. He'd been so simple, so petty, before It had shown him just how narrow his own horizons had been. His Master had opened the door to true power for him, a door whose existence he had only begun to realize and had thought unattainable. How far he could continue opening that door and how fast he could slip through was up to him.  
  
He could feel his Master's presence even now, a comforting tingle at the base of his skull. Before the Call, he'd been shunned by his peers for trying to better himself. Now, he was never alone - always in the company of one who not only agreed with his views, but encouraged and aided him in his quest.  
  
Adept...  
  
Kel'Thuzad jerked, clutching his chest as a jolt of pain ran through him. "Don't do that," he snapped, as the forest he'd been resting in melted into darkness, an inky black that surrounded the necromancer, cool and comforting. "I may not need my heart anymore," he said, softening his tone, "but that does not mean I need ye shocking me like that."  
  
Cold laughter filled the darkness surrounding him. I had no idea you were so... fragile, Adept.  
  
"That is of no import," Kel'Thuzad said, brushing imaginary dust off his robes, trying to appear calm. "What do you want of me, Master? Has the latest cauldron been delivered?"  
  
Yes, the voice said, the black rippling around the necromancer. It is the last one. Take it to Andorhal and put it on the grain shipment headed for Durasbrad.  
  
"I understand, Master. "He waited for the black to fade away, to be replaced by the forest he'd been resting in.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Growing impatient, Kel'Thuzad crossed his arms and said, "is there anything else, Master? I would like to reach Andorhal by dawn, so as to get an early start."  
  
Patience...  
  
The necromancer sighed and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.  
  
"Master?" he called out, not really expecting a response. "What is going on?"  
  
The voice returned almost ten minutes later, sounding intrigued. I have some interesting information for you, Adept. A challenge, as well.  
  
"A challenge?" Kel"Thuzad thought for a moment. He had never been challenged in his former life, everything coming to him easily. The Call had promised that it would provide him with real challenges, ones that would truly test his power and increase it as he defeated them.  
  
His Master had held true to that promise.  
  
"What kind of a challenge?" Kel'Thuzad asked.  
  
Your former colleagues in the Violet Citadel have begun to notice your movements, as have the Knights of the Silver Hand, Adept...  
  
Kel'Thuzad's lips pulled back, twisting his face into a sneer. "Antonidas," he muttered. "And that pious fool, the Lightbringer. How much do they know?"  
  
Enough to be suspicious, the voice said. The Lightbringer will send a detachment of men to Durasbrad, to allay his fears. You are to wipe out that detachment before it reaches the northern coast.  
  
"Simple enough..."  
  
Kel'Thuzad steeped his fingers, resting his chin on them. "And what shall my peers in the Kirin Tor do? Send a few mages to 'investigate' as they did during the Second War, sending good men to their deaths?"  
  
The necromancer's unseen Master laughed. No. Antonidas, at the least, is no fool. They will send three Danai to stop you.  
  
Kel'Thuzad stiffened. "They suspect how serious the situation is becoming for them, then," he said. Then realization hit him. "Wait. Three Danai? Master, you know how powerful one Dana is. Is the Scourge powerful enough to stop three of them at this point?"  
  
You stop the Lightbringer's force, his Master said. The black around Kel'Thuzad slowly began to dissolve back into the dark forest. I will deal with your Night Stalkers...  
  
Hooded figures came running out of the trees and surrounded the necromancer. Dead eyes stared at the necromancer, surrounded by ashen, gray skin.  
  
"What knowledge has the Lord imparted upon ye, Master?" one of them asked. "We yearn to know. Also... the cauldron has arrived."  
  
Kel'Thuzad ignored him. "We leave for Andorhal, now," he said. "The plague shall reach Durasbrad by noon."  
  
Drawing his cloak tightly around him, the necromancer shivered. No matter what his Master said, all that he could think of was that the Danai would soon arrive in the northlands of Lordaeron. He had not even heard of the shadowy group until his thirtieth year in the Kirin Tor, and had not become involved in their operations until his fortieth. It was rumored that they'd not lost a single man during hundreds of missions during the Second War. All of them solo.  
  
And now three of them were coming. How could the Scourge defeat such a force, when it was still in its infancy?  
  
The Lich King had said he would handle the Danai. It remained to be seen if he could. 


	2. Chapter One: Burning Red

Chapter One  
  
Staring up at the night sky, Tojara felt the same wonder he had since he was a boy on Draenor, gazing at the stars. It was an innocent wonder, one that had somehow remained throughout the past thirty years of war. The night sky of Lordaeron held many more pinpricks of light than had the blood- red sky of Draenor; for Tojara, it was like being a boy again. But the stars also made him mad in a childlike way. There they were, so tantalizing, but unreachable. Senseless anger welled up in him, to his alarm.  
  
It was undeniable. He felt hotter and hotter with each passing moment, and the stars were becoming less important as he searched the forest around him for something living. For something to kill.  
  
The rage was building.  
  
Pain erupted in his stomach, the pain that went to the core of one's very being. The Blademaster gasped, trying to remain upright. His left hand went to the rock he was sitting on to steady himself, his right holding onto his weapon. His mind began to numb; his vision growing blurry. Then a second wave of pain washed over him and he could not suppress a groan, his thoughts running wild as he felt himself losing his balance.  
  
Letting his massive blade fall to the ground, Tojara collapsed, his knees hitting the cold, hard earth. He broke out into a cold sweat, chills coursing through his body. Not again, he thought, gasping as he tried to draw air into his tortured lungs. The corruption was overtaking him again. It had been with him ever since the day he'd accepted the power his chieftain had imparted upon him and his brethren in the Burning Blade clan. It remained even now, long after his clan had dissolved into madness during the Second War. He'd never considered that that power would come with a price; now, he was all too aware of it.  
  
His right arm jerked, reaching for the blade. He screamed, grabbing his arm and clutching it to his chest. Flames danced before his eyes, consuming him. But he was losing control, and he knew it. He could not resist the rage much longer. The everlasting thirst for death, the insatiable lust for blood, the pure need to slice deeply into the nearest unfortunate enemy... it was all coming upon him full force and the tormented Blademaster couldn't help but succumb to the feelings of wrath and fury. He had not been able to resist it since he'd escaped from the Alliance's internment camps near Alterac. He had not been able to resist it since the day he'd given himself over to the demons... It was like some infernal curse. A curse that would never go away.  
  
A roar tore out of his throat, the cry of a beast, an animal. The edges of Tojara's vision began to darken, a veil that would not lift until the rage had subsided. His arm jerked again, and this time the Blademaster knew he would not be able to stop it as it slowly moved toward his blade. As his hand closed around it, Tojara let out a roar, one of longing.  
  
Rising to his feet, eyes burning red, Tojara tested his sword. He had always kept it in the best of condition and the blade sang as it flew through the air. It sliced into a rock, cutting deep into the stone. As the sparks flew past his face, Tojara growled. He ran into the forest, the banner of the Burning Blade clan on the pole lashed to his back whipping around him.  
  
The rage would not be denied.  
  
* * *  
  
Stars filled the sky when he awoke; it had been night when Tojara had submitted to the rage, so he had no idea how long he had been out or where he had gone. What concerned him most, though, was what he done while lost in the depths of the bloodlust. He groaned, his head pounding. Trying to move his right arm, the orc roared as pain shot through him. He looked down at the limb and saw a bright red gash running from his wrist to his elbow, blood flowing freely from the wound. The Blademaster grunted and sat up, tearing a piece of cloth off his ragged cloak and wrapping it around his forearm, trying to staunch the flow of blood.  
  
Feeling dizzy, he stood, his eyesight a little blurry. As he tried to get his bearings, he noticed dancing orange light reflecting off his blade. Puzzled, Tojara waited until his eyes adjusted. When they did, the old orc rather wished they hadn't.  
  
Everything around him was burning. Clutching the blade to his chest, Tojara took a good, long look around him, struggling to keep his stomach from clawing its way up his throat.  
  
Buildings burned all around him. As had happened before, he had stumbled upon a human village while in the grips of the bloodlust. Mutilated corpses lay everywhere. On the streets, strewn over fences, against the doors of burning homes... Turning to run, Tojara stumbled over the corpse of a man in his mid-thirties wielding a pickaxe. An expression of horror and rage was forever locked upon the dead man's face. The pickaxe was stained with blood, as was the gaping hole in the man's stomach. His dead eyes bored into the Blademaster's own. Sickened, Tojara ran through the streets, carnage dancing around him.  
  
* * *  
  
Standing in a small tree just outside the settlement, a lone elf watched, horrified, as an orc Blademaster savagely tore apart a group of pitiful villagers with his cold, sharp weapon. A few knights and their horses lay rigid upon the scorched, blackened earth. Dark, crimson blood stained their once gold and silver armor as the haze of death remained clouded over their glazed, lifeless eyes. They had been summoned from a larger village to the south, where they had been staying for the past few days. They would stay in the north forever now, their bodies left to the crows.  
  
The lithe elf continued to watch the slaughter with her ice blue eyes, disgusted and appalled by the orc's barbaric actions. A dark blue cloak swathed over slender shoulders, concealing the numerous weapons and supplies she always carried with her. She brushed a strand of her long blonde hair out of her eyes, watching with a growing sense of rage.  
  
"You were right, Dahn," she whispered into a pendant hanging from her wrist. "The bloodlust is beginning to corrupt the orcs again. I just watched one bring Northglen down to the foundations."  
  
The Dana on the other end sighed.  
  
"This isn't going to work, Karyn," the human Dana said, scanning the area around him with his jade green eyes. "We've never had to. coordinate before. We're all used to working alone. What was the Archmage thinking?"  
  
"If the orcs are going to become mindless killing machines again, maybe even the three of us won't be enough," Karyn murmured. "Where's Halberd?"  
  
The elf Dana shifted nervously in the tree she was perched in. The orc was coming closer, running mindlessly through the forest.  
  
"Light knows," Dahn replied.  
  
"Shall I deal with the orc?" Karyn asked, drawing her short sword. "He seems to be consumed with guilt. Wouldn't be too hard  
  
"Whatever you want," Dahn answered. Just remember: we're to meet at Durasbrad two days from now."  
  
He waited for a response.  
  
"Karyn?" he asked. "Karyn, are you there?"  
  
Nothing. And then, loud and clear, a roar resonated through the pendant.  
  
"Dammit," he muttered, stashing the jewel back into his robes and leaning against a tree. There was nothing he could do.  
  
"Dammit!" Slamming a fist against the tree beside him, Dahn stalked off into the forest.  
  
* * *  
  
Tojara had heard the elf the moment he'd entered the forest, her feeble attempts to conceal herself were little protection. He'd waited until she began talking to the small jewel in her hand before slowly making his way toward the tree she was standing in, traveling in a wide circle to keep her wondering where he was going. He had intended at first to discover her intentions and slip into the forest, but when she drew a short sword from her robes, he decided that she would have to die. Killing her would bring him no pleasure; rather, it was necessary, he kept telling himself as he moved through the forest, his heart heavy with guilt. He was tired of all the killing, the mindless destruction. But until he could free himself of the rage - and until the humans saw him as a creature as smart and worthy of life as they - the useless destruction would go on.  
  
He leapt into the tree, shoving the elf out as he landed. She screamed as she fell, the jewel flying into the forest. Something cracked in her arm as she landed. A moment later, the Blademaster landed lightly beside her and pressed the point of his blade into her throat.  
  
"What do you want," he yelled, his voice twisting as the bloodlust bubbled up inside him again. Tojara fought back the urge to press down, slice the elf's throat, and watch her struggle for air as she slowly died.  
  
"Who were you talking to," he said, keeping his arms steady. "Answer me now, elf!"  
  
To the Blademaster's surprise, the elf's eyes narrowed and she said very calmly, "Let me go now, beast, and I'll give you a fast death."  
  
Tojara almost laughed at her, but then one of the buildings in the village collapsed, sending a pillar of fire and smoke into the sky.  
  
"I... do not wish to harm you," he said solemnly. "Not like; what I did back there."  
  
The blade-wielding orc swallowed hard, his blade wavering as he drew it back slightly. The elf Dana muttered something under her breath, her eyes glowing a fierce blue...  
  
Tojara's eyes widened and he hastily attempted to stab his blade down - but already the spell had thrown him back into the nearest tree. He slumped down wearily, his blade dropping uselessly to the ground as pain raked through his entire form. An inky blackness began to close upon the sword- wielding orc, but he struggled to his feet, leaning against the tree as he groped for his blade.  
  
"I... said I did not wish to harm you," he said feebly, coughing up blood.  
  
"Did you say that to the people in Northglen?" She asked viciously, standing before him. "Did you ask them if they wished to be harmed, beast? No. You slaughtered them all. This is what you deserve."  
  
The sword in her left hand rose above her head, her right hanging limply beside her.  
  
"No, I didn't--" Tojara stopped as her sword came down, singing as it sped through the air. He threw his own blade up, intercepting hers in midair. Sparks flew past the two, he using his strength to slowly push her back.  
  
"I'll tell you one more time, elf," he said. "Leave, before the rage takes hold of me again."  
  
"Never, beast," she said, taking a step back as she looked into his eyes. The sadness in there shocked her, but she could also recognize the building anger behind those eyes. One that would not be held back much longer... "You will pay for your crimes."  
  
Tojara roared, pressing his blade down into the cold, solid earth. The tortured orc looked at the elf Dana standing before him with an almost pleading expression as he spoke to her in his low, wrath-beaten voice.  
  
"Soon I won't be able to hold it back." the orc said gravely. "Run, now, elf."  
  
Her arm began to waver; clearly, something was broken in the right one, and was sapping her strength. Tojara couldn't help but wonder why the elven woman wouldn't run away and save herself. She couldn't possibly hope to win against him with a broken arm, could she.?  
  
"Its your choice whether you live or die, elf." the Blademaster said in a low, almost threatening voice. "This is your last chance."  
  
"N-no!" the elven Dana yelled, a ball of fire igniting in her right hand. Gritting her teeth to fight back a scream that tried to tear out of her throat, she brought the injured arm up, pushing the fire into the orc's chest.  
  
The orc cried out in pain, stumbling backward as he clutched his chest. When the injured Blademaster looked back up at the elf again, his eyes flashed red. "Dammit, elf, I told you to run. Look what you've done...  
  
A mindless roar escaped his lips and he rushed her, his blade glowing red.  
  
Taking a step backward, Karyn dropped her sword and sidestepped his rush, the blade cutting through her cloak. She turned, readying a spell--but the orc was gone. Wind Walk... Karyn thought. Cursing under her breath, she sat down and examined her right arm. It was clearly broken above the wrist, and when she tried to move it, pain so intense ran through her that she almost blacked out.  
  
This isn't going to be fun...  
  
She sat down, leaning against a tree, and clutched her right wrist with her left hand. That was almost enough to knock her unconscious, but then...  
  
A loud cracking sound rang through the air as she snapped the wrist back into the place. For the first few seconds it didn't hurt; she only felt a little light-headed. But moments later, a flood of pain whirled through her veins as a sharp throb began to pulse up her arm and through the rest of her body. She began to scream, but passed out before the cry could escape her lips.  
  
Watching from the bushes, Tojara, struggling to keep from leaping out and killing the elf, nodded. She had honor and faced pain far better than many orcs. He slipped off into the forest, his rage under control, for now.  
  
But it was still there, growing. Running through the forest, he could barely remember his original goal when he'd escaped from the Alterac internment camps: find the new war chief, Thrall. The Blademaster's only hope for a cure to his rage...  
  
Or to find a new chieftain, one who would provide him with an endless supply of enemies to face. 


End file.
